


Pel'gam Copad

by Cryo_Bucky



Series: "Kandosii'la" and other words Boba Fett doesn't know. [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Frottage, Getting Together, M/M, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Mentioned Grogu | Baby Yoda, Post Season 2, Praise Kink, Touch-Starved, mentioned din/cobb, mentioned din/paz, please appreciate this planet I made up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28495068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky/pseuds/Cryo_Bucky
Summary: "Pel'gam Copad" lit. "Skin desire" - the need to touch and be touched by another person.Din doesn't know what he wants after losing everything he's known, but tagging along with Fennec and Boba Fett isn't so bad. Maybe if Boba would stop touching him he could think straight.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Series: "Kandosii'la" and other words Boba Fett doesn't know. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087310
Comments: 53
Kudos: 661





	Pel'gam Copad

**Author's Note:**

> I bastardized a translation for this title, and so help me I will continue to bastardize this language as it suits me. Turns out I've fallen into another fandom. This was meant to be purely pwp, but the plot snuck in. Un beta-ed so hopefully I haven't missed too many glaring grammatical errors.

Din may not have heard the phrase “touch-starved” before, but the bone-deep ache has been his companion since childhood. He doesn’t think about it. It is just a part of his life, the same as showing his face. He isn’t the type to get close to others, and has simply no reason to think about it. 

Turns out Boba Fett is a physical affection kind of guy. Who in the galaxy would have thought so, or even more have the chance to experience it? However Din finds himself in Boba’s orbit, and as such receives a bounty of friendly pats to the shoulder, the bumping together of their pauldrons, once even a side-long hug that had ended in a little shake and the bubbling of a warm laugh. That had left Din shaking deep in his chest for days. 

He can’t begrudge Boba, is terrified to bite out the words “don’t touch me” because it isn’t what he really wants. Instead he finds himself clinging more and more tightly to every chance he gets. Without realizing it Din begins to notice small things about his new companion, the breadth of his hands as he claps one over Din’s shoulder, how very broad he seems despite being a few inches shorter. Boba Fett commands respect and appears to take up far more space than he should. Din finds his mind drifting to burrowing himself into the crook of his arm, not dissimilar to the way that he himself holds Grogu. 

If Boba notices Din’s increased attention on him, he doesn’t say anything, much to Din’s relief. The thought of being forced to come clean about the increasingly inappropriate ways that Din imagines Boba’s hands sliding up his back or around his hips leaves him near trembling. 

Perhaps Din should feel intimidated by someone such as Boba, the legend that strolled casually into his life and seems to give as little quarter to being a Mandalorian as any other rules in the galaxy. Someone like that should be feared, maybe even avoided, but Din finds himself drawn in anyway. 

Fennec on the other hand unsettles Din. She is quiet and always seems to be watching everything around her. Her reputation is no better than Boba’s, and while Din is glad they are currently on the same side, he keeps an eye on her. If anyone is going to notice Din’s strange behavior it’s her. He catches her smiling at him once, after Boba knocks into him in that familiar way that Din is slowly becoming used to, and it’s more unsettling than a knife to his gut. 

He accompanies them for months, not knowing exactly what to do with himself now that he isn’t looking after a kid. He feels unmoored without someone needing him, a new and sharp pain deep in his chest that leaves him breathless and near tears if he tries to look at it. He’s stronger than this, he’ll be fine. It’s what’s best for Grogu. 

Boba knows who has him, tells Din that his name is Luke Skywalker with a curl of his lip, and even Din has heard that name whispered, though he had no context. It seems that Grogu will be safe with him, or at least Din hopes. 

Tatooine is not a planet that Din has any fondness for, just another sand trap that he’s spent time avoiding, but he accompanies Boba and Fennec there, taking the time to wander through the repossessed ships as Boba takes care of his business, sizing them up and trying to ignore the ache in his chest from the loss of The _Crest_. They’ve rebuffed his offers to help, Fennec telling him that he should take the day off and Boba muttering that it’s a personal vendetta that he would love to handle on his own. Din doesn’t put up much of an argument, too caught up in his own thoughts to be very useful as backup. 

There are paths he can take, he can always go and find this Skywalker just to visit, but he doesn’t want to impede Grogu’s training - he can wait until he’s called for. The Dark Saber on his hip hangs heavy with obligation, but Din has never thought of himself as a leader. Reuniting Mandalore? He’d rather cut off his own arm with a dull spoon. He would have been happy to give the damn Saber to Bo-Katan, but of course, that apparently isn’t how it worked. She will surely be back to be a thorn in his side, but for now Din is happy to tag along with Fett. A relaxing hostile takeover is just what he needs to get his head back in the game. 

He finds Boba on the throne in the Hutt castle, though it hasn’t been controlled by a Hutt in years. Apparently now it’s Boba’s castle. Shand sits on the arm of the throne, sipping from a large bottle and looking pleased as punch. Boba turns his head when Din approaches, and though his posture doesn’t change Din feels like Boba is smiling at him. 

“I see negotiations went well.” Din is glad of the helmet obscuring his face, he can’t seem to bring his gaze from the wide spread of Boba’s thighs. 

“They were short.” Boba shifts, resting his head on one fist and regarding Din for a few long moments, “I imagine tonight will bring another visitor or two, until word spreads that ownership has changed.” 

“Did you find a ship to your taste?” Fennec slides off the throne after offering Boba the jug, footsteps light even in the echoing chamber as she nudges the body of the throne’s previous occupant with her boot. 

Din misses The _Crest_ terribly. It had been his home for years, and to have it so thoroughly destroyed had been heart wrenching. Not even a piece big enough to rebuild. It’s just one more loss in a string of them, but that doesn’t make it any easier. 

“No.” Is all Din says. 

“We‘ll find you the perfect ship. Maybe if we’re lucky one you can modify to be just like your old one.” Boba says, folding one leg over his knee and settling further into his new throne, “I’ve been through a couple iterations of my own ship, I know how it can be.” 

Din nods, fingers twitching at his sides. He’s never been an idle person, always moving from one job to the next. Now that he finds himself without an immediate plan of action his mind races in sickening circles that leave him wanting to scream. 

“Why don’t you find a room you like. You‘ll be welcome to stay as long as you want.” Boba says, and his voice sounds much closer. 

Din looks up from the spot on the floor he has been unknowingly staring at, only to find Boba even closer than he had imagined. He nearly jumps back, and does lean back slightly as Boba takes another step into his space, so close they’re nearly touching. Boba tips his head forward and Din’s heart leaps into his throat. Boba stops just short of touching their foreheads together, and Din isn’t sure if his vocoder can pick up his panicked breathing, but he desperately hopes it won’t. 

“You deserve to relax.” Boba says, and Din’s blood is roaring so loud in his ears that he almost doesn’t hear. 

“Thank you.” Din manages to say, stepping back stiffly.

Shand has disappeared, and Din is entirely grateful that she had missed...whatever that was. 

Din’s heart stays high in his throat as he takes the spiraling path through the bowels of the castle to the private rooms. He doesn’t much care where he sleeps, knows he won’t really be able to get rest here. Too many nights he’s spent listening to the hum of a ship to drift off, and it’s silent here in the castle. 

It seems that Shand has been methodically going through and making sure that the place is secure, but Boba had told Din to find a room, so here he is. He pays no mind to the sounds of the castle, ambling through empty rooms without really seeing them. 

It’s hard to stop replaying the long, tense moment between him and Fett, and he finds himself sinking into a plush couch just to keep from pacing. It’s a term of affection, much more intimate than the friendly bumps that Boba has been giving him for months. A Keldabe Kiss. Maybe Boba doesn’t know. He claims to not give a single shit about Mandalore, and from what Din has seen he doesn’t seem to know many customs. It doesn’t have to mean… that. After all, it’s simply a term of affection. It can mean anything, or nothing - the same as a hug. But it doesn’t slow Din’s heart rate. He isn’t even sure that Fett knows more than a few words in Mando’a. He should just let it go. 

Din tries to stay out of the way for the next week, finding himself quickly growing painfully bored as he finds a seat in the main hall to watch Boba intimidate the locals. Most are thankful for a new ruler, those that aren’t don’t last very long. The idea that Boba could be kinder than the previous owners of this castle is nearly laughable, but it seems true. 

With nothing to focus on Din finds his thoughts turning inward- something he tries to avoid during the regular course of his day, but particularly lately. Watching Boba sprawl on that throne is certainly a distraction. More than once Din is struck with the desire to settle into his lap, or kneel between his spread thighs. The thoughts are quickly banished, but Din is extremely glad that no one can see the way that his neck and ears burn each time. 

At the end of a fortnight Boba surprises Din by asking him to accompany him on a job. 

“I don’t imagine you want to be left here to watch over the castle. Plus, Fennec wants to sit in the chair for a while.” 

“What’s the job?” Din is surprised that Boba would want to leave the castle so soon after acquiring it, but the other part of him is ready to climb the walls to be able to do something, anything, else besides sit here. 

“Supply run. Technically I don’t need to go myself, but I’ve heard some rather interesting rumors. If they’re true I could use another set of hands. And it would give you the chance to knock some heads.”

Din is nodding before Boba finishes. Anything to get off this sand trap for a few hours. “I’m ready when you are.” 

Some of the tight anxiety that Din has been battling with eases as soon as the thrum of _Slave I’_ s engine starts beneath his feet. Something to do is infinitely better than idleness, though Din isn’t sure if Boba is simply entertaining him, or really wants him there. 

Meosus isn’t a planet that Din has ever heard of before - but Boba seems convinced, though doesn’t offer any more information about their goals before climbing into the cockpit to get them underway. The swoop in the pit of Din’s stomach as the ship rises through the atmosphere is one of the most familiar sensations he knows. 

Being alone in the passenger hold Din wastes no time spreading himself out across as many seats as possible, trying to get comfortable and maybe catch an hour or two of sleep. Without his rifle there isn’t much of his gear left to check, just his blaster and the spear that is still fairly new in his hands. Pillowing his head on his arm Din manages to drift off to the dull roar of the engines. 

Din has no idea how much time has passed, only that he’s suddenly thrown off the seats and onto the metal grate of the floor. After shaking himself enough to dispel the stars from the corners of his vision Din straightens up as the ship makes another sharp turn. Great - apparently they’re under attack. 

Sticking his head up the ladder into the cockpit only reveals how colorfully Boba can curse, and a myriad of angry beeping. Clearly Boba knows more Mando’a than Din had realized, at least the more colorful words.

“What can I do?” Din clings to the ladder as the ship spins. The internal gyroscope lets The _Slave_ make extremely tight turns, but it doesn’t stop Din from feeling slightly dizzy. 

“ _Rangir-_ I’ve got it handled, just hold on.” Boba banks hard again, hitting several buttons in rapid succession. Through the viewscreen Din watches as the ship that had been pursuing them explodes into satisfyingly small pieces. 

“You hit your head when you fell?” Boba turns his head to glance at Din through the visor of his helmet as he rights the ship and resumes their course, the planet coming into view. Evidently they’d simply been unlucky in where they’d dropped out of hyperspace, “Could hear the clang from up here.” 

Din huffs, pulling himself more fully into the cockpit to get a look at Meosus. “There a reason why we were being shot at?” 

“Some unlucky bastard that thought it might be a good idea to try me. Evidently the fact that I’m not dead is spreading.” Boba shrugs, and offers no further explanation. 

“So what are we in for?” Din watches the planet grow as they descend into the upper atmosphere.

“Subtropical planet, mostly miners. I’m looking to set up a trade with them. This planet used to be under Imperial control for the resources. Here’s hoping they’ve moved on.” 

“You don’t _know_?” Din hisses, just as a transmission crackles to life through the radio.

“That’s why I brought you, isn’t it? Go gather your shit, and check out my rack - maybe there’s something there that will interest you.” Boba looks over his shoulder at him before answering the transmission and rattling off their landing details. 

Din slides back down the ladder, grumbling to himself as he holsters his blaster. He doesn’t need one of Boba’s guns. He’s just fine with his own blaster and spear. 

Boba joins him just as the bay door slides open, striding out onto the dais that serves as one of several landing pads. 

Sticking close behind Boba so that he doesn’t lose him in the bustling port, Din tries to be subtle about looking at everything at once. It appears that there are mostly humans here, though there’s a smattering of other races running stalls or bustling between ships. This isn’t a large port, and evidently Boba knows where he’s going as he deftly weaves between the alleys. 

Din stops abruptly when Boba throws his arm out, looking up as a massive creature pulling an equally large cart lumbers past them. It has to be near the size of the buildings around it, being lead by a team of men. Its massive shoulders straining as it lugs the cart full of what Din can only assume is mined material. Its low, flat, head swings gently as it walks, its heft enough to make the ground vibrate beneath Din’s feet. 

“Wouldn’t want to get stepped on by that.” Boba nudges him and Din looks after the creature even as the street fills in with people darting back and forth in its wake. 

Boba leads them the other way, further into the depths of the port before stopping at a seemingly random door and knocking. Din is glad that Boba seems to know where the hell they need to be. A woman opens the door, eyes widening at the sight of them, and yeah, two Mandalorians on your doorstep will do that to someone, even without one of them being Boba Fett. 

“Please, come in.” The woman steps aside and Din ducks to get through the low doorway. The room widens as they step further in, the ceiling arching away from them in a large dome. Evidently despite its humble outward appearance this is a meeting space. A large table dominates the center of the room, with desks piled high with papers lining the walls. If not a meeting space then maybe a foreman’s office. Boba had said these people were miners. 

Din looks around the room as Boba shakes the hand of the man at the table. This is clearly who he’s here to meet with. 

Din had assumed that there would be more...blasting involved in this mission. Why bring him at all if it is simply diplomacy? Instead of agonizing over why exactly he is here, Din sits at a side table, dipping his head in thanks when the woman offers him a chair. 

It’s easy to zone out while Boba and the man speak, the words washing over him as he stares out the window toward the bustling street. Boba’s trade deals don’t much concern him, though Din finds his gaze gravitating toward the casual way Boba sprawls in the chair. Apparently his relaxed posture isn’t limited to his new throne. The actual content of their conversation is irrelevant, but Boba’s body language is fascinating, and Din lets himself stare. While Boba looks perfectly relaxed Din knows that he could swing up from the chair and have his blaster out in one smooth movement. Din still doesn’t know much about his new companion, besides the stories, and while Boba seems to live up to the legend, Din can’t help but wonder what things have been left out.

The receiver on the table between them beeps and the man stands. Din refocuses on their situation, watching the way the man has gone fidgety and Din scans the room, though they’re still the only people here. 

“I’m very sorry to say that the Pehri are still a problem in this area. While I have no qualms with trading with the new king - they are not your biggest fans.” 

Boba stands, turning just as smoothly as Din had imagined, tipping his head for Din to make toward the door. 

“There are a lot of people who might not be as pleased to find I’m alive. That’s why I brought a friend. Thank you, I’ll be in touch.” 

Din pauses at the door, waiting for Boba to catch up. “This why you brought me?” 

“You figured it out, smart boy. The Pehri are imperial sympathizers.” 

“Didn’t you work for the Imps?” Din cracks the door open, peering out into the street. 

“I may have blown a few of them up last time I was here. They control the mines on the other side of the city. This place has always been a back and forth between the two. Hoping we don’t have to blast out way back to the ship, but we’ll see. Head for The _Slave_ , I’ll meet you there.” Boba nods and Din swings the door open, ducking out past the low door only to reel back to miss a blaster bolt. 

“Guess we’re unlucky. Find some cover!” Din shouts as he unholsters his blaster and slides over a pile of crates, ducking into the space between buildings to offer him some safety before he can take stock of the situation. In the scant few seconds it takes him to move Boba has disappeared. Great. 

These Pehri goons don’t seem to be very good at the concept of cover, and Din takes out three of them before they can refocus their fire on him. Their bright green arm bands make them almost too easy to spot. He waits for an opening before backing through the alley onto the next street. Unfortunately he still doesn’t see Boba, but avoiding blaster fire is his main focus as he dodges scattering civilians in his looping path back to the docks. Better to get to the ship than waste time searching. 

Din isn’t sure if Boba’s smart guy comment was meant to be a jab or not, and his mind keeps replaying it. He decides that he’s more than a little pissed off as he ducks another blaster bolt. Why exactly is he here? To draw fire? There seems to be no shortage of people willing to shoot at him as he moves from cover to cover. He catches sight of another of the massive creatures with its cart, its flattened head and wide nose close to the ground as it lumbers along. It rattles the wares on the tables lining the streets. The blaster fire is getting closer as Din pours on the speed and ducks beneath the things legs, dodging under it as it blocks the end of the street.

It appears his pursuers aren’t as interested in getting within crushing distance, and Din manages to put some space between them. Unfortunately he sticks out like a sore thumb, and there’s really only one place he can be heading. 

After what seems like an age of dodging more blaster-wielding morons, and taking a few out in the meantime, Din can finally see The _Slave_ on its dias. Except that the engines are on. That bastard had beaten him here and was ready to leave. Lungs burning, Din covers the last stretch to the ship and hops the short distance to the entrance ramp just as the ship begins to turn into takeoff. 

He stumbles his way up the ramp, panting as it closes behind him and the ship shoots upwards, thankfully out of blaster range. If they’re lucky no one with a ship will pursue them. Even as they enter warp space Din still wants to throw a punch, the blood roaring in his ears and his hands shaking with adrenaline. He paces the passenger deck and mutters under his breath, cursing the name Fett in every language he knows. 

“Well that’s not very nice.” Boba has reemerged from setting their flight path, helmetless and grinning, and Din is no less inclined to punch him. 

“I was led to believe you had a plan. Did you bring me just to draw their fire?” Din takes a step toward him and Boba’s smile drops. 

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have let anyone shoot you.” 

Boba steps into his space and Din’s breath catches as he presses their foreheads together. It’s a bit awkward with Din in his helmet and Boba without, but Din’s heart skips anyway. He immediately shoves Boba away, though he only manages to move him a few inches before backing up himself, breathing harsh even through his vocoder. 

“Don’t do that.” 

Boba steps forward again and Din brings his arm up to ward him off, knowing that if it comes to a fight he’s likely to lose. Boba grabs his arm and then a handful of his cloak, pulling Din in until they’re practically touching once more. 

“You won’t take your helmet off for me to kiss you, so why bedruge me this?” 

Din abruptly stops struggling, though his brain is slow to process exactly what Boba had said. _Kiss?_

“I can hear those cogs turning. You think I haven’t noticed you looking?” Boba’s grip on him loosens but Din simply stands there, dumbstruck as Boba continues, “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you. I’m sorry if you thought otherwise.” 

Din makes several noises that can be construed as the beginnings of sentences, though they grow and die in his throat without ever truly emerging. Boba is back to grinning at him and Din feels heat crawling up the back of his neck. He had been trying to be angry! 

“Fennec told me that you removed your helmet for your child. Maybe I’ll get so lucky one day.” Boba is still standing in his space and Din doesn’t know what to do with this. He takes another step back but only gains a few inches before he’s backing up into the bulkhead. 

“It was important-“ Din is not going to regret his actions, they had felt right, but he had abandoned his Creed, hadn’t he? 

Boba’s expression softens, one hand coming up to fit into the space between Din’s helmet and his pauldron, thumb rubbing just under the edge, where it could touch skin if only he reached a little further. Din’s heart rabbits in his chest, and he feels dizzy. 

“I would never ask you to do something you were uncomfortable with. Admonishment wasn’t my goal. I’m sorry to have brought it up.” 

Din can’t tear himself away from the tender rub of Boba’s thumb, tips his head just enough to feel the soft leather of his glove against the skin of his throat. A small noise escapes him before he can choke it back. In the half-light of the ship Din can see the way that Boba’s pupils expand. 

“You don’t mind me touching you so much after all.”

It isn’t a question, but Din croaks out a “Guess not,” anyway. Boba drifts closer and Din doesn’t try to escape this time. 

“When was the last time someone touched you?”” Boba’s voice is soft, like Din is a scared animal that might bolt at any moment. 

Biting back the urge to answer that question with a quibble that he is touched casually plenty often - which may not have been entirely true before Boba showed up in his life - Din simply shrugs. “It’s been a while.” 

He can count the people he himself has touched with no intention of violence on one hand. A fumbled or desperate moment in a quiet corner - Paz, before the Child - Cobb, after celebrating defeating the dragon. But he had hardly removed his gloves, the softness of someone else’s skin is practically unknown to him. No one would call Boba Fett soft, but Din aches to trace the planes of his face with his own hands.

Boba has let him be silent, but has not stopped the slow circles of his thumb, Din feels his knees going weak from just this. 

“You deserve to be treated softly.” Boba is gazing at him with such intensity that Din almost believes him. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Allowing himself to be vulnerable just this once? 

“I won’t remove my helmet…” Din says, almost whimpers when Boba’s hand on his neck retreats. 

“That’s fine by me.” The teasing tone is back in Boba’s voice as he tugs off his gloves, Din’s mouth waters at the sight. “I can’t offer you much of a bed, but I would like to watch you take everything else off for me.” 

Din doesn’t dignify that with an answer, despite the heat licking up his neck. He removes his own gloves, torn between watching Boba undo the fastenings of his armor and focusing on his own. He looks up when Boba presses a button on the wall and a panel slides down from the ceiling, creating a space just wide and tall enough for someone to sit, or lie down in. 

“I don’t fancy trying to do anything athletic in my hammock in the cockpit, and I’ve yet to invest in a sex swing.” Boba grins when Din sputters, heaving himself up deftly onto the platform and leaning on an elbow to gaze expectantly down at Din, “So we’re breaking out the guest room.” 

Din laughs, can’t help himself, and Boba beams. 

It takes only a few more moments for Din to strip down to his flight suit, then he stands there, looking up at Boba who is as relaxed as can be in only his underwear. Boba tips his chin to beckon him up and Din reaches to heave himself onto the platform beside him. It’s barely wide enough for them both, but there’s a soft pad laid out carefully, and a lip to keep him from immediately falling several feet to the hard grating below. Not so bad, all things considered. Din has certainly lay in worse places.

“What are the odds of that sex swing for next time?” Din asks as he wriggles his arms out of the suit, sighing softly when Boba’s hands come up to brush over his chest. 

“Why don’t we worry about this time first.” Boba is back to gazing intensely at Din, pressing him flat into the padding and straddling his hips, other hand nudging his suit down further. 

Din is breathing hard already, feeling flushed down to his chest as Boba gently caresses his arms and picks up one of his hands to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist. 

“C’mon, Din growls, rocking his hips up. Boba’s eyes narrow and he leans away, shifting his weight off Din entirely. 

“Don’t be a brat. Let me touch you and we’ll get there when we get there.” 

Din isn’t a very patient man, especially not when it comes to this. He breathes hard through his nose to keep from whining when Boba goes back to exploring his skin, bringing his own hands up to brush against Boba’s jawline, the curve of his throat, along the breadth of his shoulders the way his eyes had been doing for weeks. The time Boba had spent in the Sarlac pit hadn’t been kind, left him with even more scars than he had gone in with, but Din didn’t mind. It is like a map of his lifetime painted onto his skin for Din’s fingers to learn the exact shape and texture of.

Boba leans forward and pushes their foreheads together again and this time Din lets him, sighing happily even as his heart aches to be able to kiss him.

Bracing his arm around Boba’s thick waist, Din rolls them. He’s careful not to tip them out of the bulk but manages to switch their positions, sitting up as much as he can to wiggle his way out of his flight suit, kicking it off the edge. Boba gazes up at him, bracing on his elbows to press their foreheads together once more. This time Din whines, biting at his lip in frustration. 

“Can I kiss you?” Din manages to rasp out, less concerned with his overt nakedness as he is with the idea of removing his helmet. 

“Of course but-“ Boba doesn’t hesitate to lean into his space again, gasping softly when Din crowds him back, pressing his hand over Boba’s eyes as he wrestles his helmet off one-handed. 

Surely this is skirting the line, but he’s thrown himself over that line more than once now for his son, so why not indulge himself this, just this once? Even the dimmed lights of the passenger hold are almost too much without his helmet on and he finds himself squinting, unused to having proper peripheral vision. The drone of the ship’s engine is much louder, and he can see the exact shade of the flush crawling down Boba’s neck in more detail. There’s more than one reason now that he doesn’t remove his helmet - it’s too much all at once. But it’s worth it for this. 

Boba’s lips are chapped but surprisingly soft. Din keeps his hand pressed over Boba’s eyes as he kisses him, licks desperately into the heat of his mouth, drinking up the deep moan that rumbles up from Boba’s chest like it’s the last thing he will ever need. He only pulls away when they’re both panting for air, Boba’s fingers digging themselves into his hips. 

“Keep your eyes closed.” Din presses a kiss to Boba’s jaw before pulling away and using his now free hands to tug off the last of Boba’s clothes as well, mouth watering anew at the sight of his thick cock twitching against his thigh. 

“Should have known you were a bastard in bed.” Boba has thrown his arm over his eyes, and Din feels a surge of fondness that he takes Din’s clinging to his crumbling creed in stride. 

Din can’t help but smirk, leaning down to press a wet kiss to the underside of Boba’s thick cock just to hear him gasp. He’s never sucked cock before, but he’s alight with the desire to learn - wants to find all the little things that make Boba gasp like that. 

“Maybe next time, _cyar’ika_.” The arm not thrown over his eyes reaches for him and Din presses his cheek into Boba’s palm. “I’ll show you exactly how to do that if you want.” 

Din grabs his helmet and slips it back on, eyes readjusting and the drone of the ship becoming muted once more. He taps Boba’s arm and Boba pulls him in again, both hands sliding across his shoulders and down his back as he kisses at Din’s throat. 

“What do you want to do this time?” Din asks, making a small noise of surprise when Boba flips him onto his back once more, “You seem to be the one with the plan.” 

“Oh I can think of so many things…” Boba licks his lips and Din feels his ears burn in embarrassment at being gazed upon like a meal. 

After several heavy moments, Boba seemingly perfectly happy to keep petting at Din’s chest and down to his belly, Boba finally continues, “Want to feel you. Let you satisfy some of that touch hunger that I know you’re feeling.”

Without further explanation Boba shifts their positions again, tugging Din onto his side and settling against him, one hand sliding down over Din’s ass to hitch his thigh over Boba’s hip. Din gasps as it lines them up perfectly. He needs no more prompting to hook his leg around Boba’s and grind against him in a full-body roll. A pleased noise crackling through his vocoder. 

“There you go, _ah_ ” Boba wiggles closer, blunt nails pressing into Din’s skin, “Good boy.” 

Din realizes that his hands are shaking, and he clings to Boba without a lick of shame, floating in a haze of pleasure as Boba murmurs praise into his neck, one hand keeping Din’s face buried in the crook of his shoulder and the other lining up their cocks to take them both in hand. Din’s moan is loud in the space between them, the rough calluses on Boba’s hands making him twitch. He’s never felt this before - it seems like Boba is touching him everywhere at once. Pleasure sears up his spine and leaves him feeling overwhelmed with the intensity. His hips jerk, unbidden, and Boba chuckles low and dirty against his throat. 

“You’re so wet-” Boba drives his point home by swiping his thumb over the head of Din’s leaking cock, making him gasp again, “You close?” Boba’s hand doesn’t stop moving, and Din’s eyes flutter behind his visor. 

“Dank Farrik- _yes_!” Din drags his hand down over Boba’s hip, trying to get even closer, pleasure licking hot up his spine. Boba tightens his grip and Din knows he’s going to lose it, the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears hiding the other noises that slip from his mouth. 

Din bites his lip hard enough to taste blood as he comes, trying to keep in the shout that builds in his chest. Boba works him through it, until Din is whimpering and nudging at Boba’s wrist to make him let go. He’s still panting, voice shaky as he asks, “Your turn?” 

Boba opens his mouth, surely to say something snarky, but Din beats him to it, reaching out with increasingly steady fingers to take Boba’s cock in hand. Instead of arguing Boba just sighs happily, eyes fluttering closed. 

Din might not have loads of experience but he’s a quick learner, watching for the things that make Boba gasp and twitch in his grip. 

“I’m not gonna last-” Boba hisses out as Din shifts them slightly, returning Boba to lying on his back. “Ah, Din-” 

And isn’t that something. Din isn’t used to people knowing his name, let alone using it in such a context. He hasn’t heard his name spoken like that...ever. He redoubles his efforts, desperate to see Boba come by his hand. 

“Come on, know you’re close.” Din leans closer, until he’s pressed their foreheads together, gazing into the warm brown of Boba’s eyes. It’s much more intimate than he usually allows himself to be, but it does the trick. Boba gasps, fingers clawing at Din’s shoulders as he comes in thick spurts between them, adding to the mess that Din has already left. 

Flopping over onto his side Din chuckles when Boba pulls him back into an embrace. 

“If you’re not careful, I’ll start telling people that you’re cuddly.” Din doesn’t usually have the opportunity to stay once things are finished, but he finds himself drifting in the pleasant haze of afterglow. 

“They won’t believe you.” Boba bumps their foreheads together again once he’s caught his breath. 

They lay quietly for a few long moments, Boba back to petting at Din’s chest. Din watches him, relaxed in a way he can’t remember being in a very long time. 

“Kandosii'la…” Din murmurs, a haze of sleep threatening to take him under. 

Boba props himself up on his elbow, gazing down at Din, “I don’t know that one.” 

Din blinks, a smile on his lips. “It means stunning.” 

Boba’s cheeks go pink and he looks away, “I only learned the few words that my father taught me.” 

“I don’t imagine your father taught you _all_ those words you used earlier.” 

“I may have picked up a few more of the good ones myself.” Boba snorts, nudging Din when he chuckles again. 

A loud beeping jerks Din out of his daze, and Boba curses under his breath, turning to slide stiffly to the floor. 

“Guess snuggling time is over, time to land. Maybe find yourself some pants, or a rag to wipe off with.” 

Din sits up, narrowly missing hitting his head on the roof of the hold as he watches Boba hop on one leg to get into his pants. 

“Maybe I’ll pick out a spot for that sex swing.” Din calls as Boba ascends the ladder to the cockpit. He gets a snort of laughter in response. 

After finding a few chem wipes on the shelf to get the worst of the sticky residue off of him, Din goes about getting re-dressed, flopping heavily into one of the passenger seats after returning the platform to its spot in the ceiling. The ship lurches and Din feels that swoop in his belly once again as they enter the atmosphere of Tatooine. He feels lighter than before- some of the crushing weight of the last few months, while not gone, seems easier to bear. 

He straightens when the ship touches down, looking up as Boba slides down the ladder. He’s back in his helmet, and Din feels like he can suddenly understand Boba’s desire to see him without his own. He has no idea if this is something that Boba wants to repeat, but Din finds himself growing into the idea of it. He wouldn’t mind if Boba was the only one he heard utter his name- it was something just between them now. Like the fact that Din knew the exact feeling of Boba’s hands on him. That wasn’t something that could be included in the legends about Boba. Maybe Din could teach him a few more words in Mando’a - he can think of a few that are fitting. 

Boba knocks him out of his thoughts by bumping their shoulders together before pressing the button to lower the plank, the bright sands momentarily blinding Din after the darkness of the ship. 

Back to it then.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you enjoyed (and if you would like more~)  
> Edit: realized I forgot to add the Mando’a translations, sorry! 
> 
> Rangir - “to hell with it”  
> cyar'ika - sweetheart, baby, term of endearment
> 
> I made a Tumblr post with the info (as well as drawing a banner that is delightfully horny (if I do say so myself) so feel free to[reblog it if you wish!](https://dindlarin.tumblr.com/post/639349395800850432/pelgam-copad-a-bobadin-fic-by-cryobucky)  
> Come yell at me about Din Djarin over on [Tumblr](https://dindlarin.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cryobuckys)!


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